


let loose your glow

by awrfhi



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Soulmate AU, basically just a massive self-indulgent fluff fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 03:56:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15878031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awrfhi/pseuds/awrfhi
Summary: in a world where your eye colour matches your soulmate's hair colour, phil decides to dye his hair black.





	let loose your glow

**Author's Note:**

> just a small note to apologise for any inaccuracies in this! it's too late to fact check and i'm very lazy. anyway: enjoy! and come say hi over on tumblr @awrfhi <3

_Soulmate: a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner._

The definition blinks back at him through his laptop screen.

“I don’t get it, Peej,” he murmurs.

He tears his eyes away from the expanse of pixels before him and looks at PJ, with his mess of brown curls and mellow brown eyes and cool braces. PJ has it so _easy_ , he thinks to himself. PJ has a selection of brown-haired people to choose from, each one just as ‘ideally suited’ to him as the other.

“I don’t think anyone really gets it,” PJ replies, studying his face.

Dan can’t bring himself to hold his gaze for longer than a couple of seconds. They’ve had this conversation dozens of times, and each time it boils down to the singular fact that Dan’s eyes simply aren’t _normal_.

When he looks back at his laptop, the screen’s gone blank. A pair of decidedly orange eyes hold his stare and seems to pierce through him, shattering every layer of his carefully constructed façade until all that’s left is just Dan, a dim glow in a world of dazzling chaos.

The screen is slammed down.

“You’ll drive yourself crazy doing that,” PJ says, his voice coloured with sympathy.

“I already have.”

PJ’s laughter sifts through the air.

“You’re so dramatic sometimes. It’s not even that big of a deal. Just because some otherworldly power created a bullshit archaic rule about soulmates, doesn’t mean you have to listen to it. Besides, look at all the happy couples out there who didn’t! ‘You must forge your own path for it to mean anything.’”

“Alright, Hera.”

“She has a point, Dan. Having orange eyes doesn’t define you. There are billions of people out there. The one for you might not necessarily have orange hair.”

“But there’s scientific evidence!” Dan protests. “They’ve done studies on this! Divorce rates are higher in couples who aren’t soulmates and practically non-existent in those who are!”

“Correlation, not causation,” PJ tuts. “Every time we have this conversation you always say that. Why are you so wound up about this? There’s so much more to life than finding love.”

Dan slumps back on his bed and frowns.

“I... don’t know.”

“Exactly. You’re 14, for Christ’s sake. Focus on something that matters.”

“It matters to me,” Dan says.

“Right. Bad choice of words. Listen, if it bothers you that much, there are things you can do to help, y’know?”

“Like what?”

PJ grins wickedly.

“It’s time we went on a little shopping trip.”

It takes 20 minutes of Dan artfully smoothing his fringe over one eye before they’re ready to go. Once they’re out of Dan’s bedroom and down the stairs, he shoves his trainers on his feet and pockets his phone.

“Where are you going?” a voice calls.

“I’m going to the shops with Peej,” Dan calls back.

For a second, Dan thinks he hears a sigh.

“Be back before dinner,” his mum instructs.

“I will.”

The walk from Dan’s house to the nearest shopping centre is longer than he remembers it being. When they finally arrive, his breathing is heavy and his heels are beginning to rub. He limps as subtly as he can behind PJ, who’s confidently striding towards Boots.

Inside Boots, Dan follows PJ to a section he’s unfamiliar with. Several racks with all kinds of glasses surround them, each complete with a mirror. He catches his reflection in every one of them, and the eyes that look back are swimming with uncertainty.

“Sunglasses? Is that the master plan?” he asks, looking around for something that makes sense.

“Don’t be silly,” PJ replies, digging through a rack of small boxes. “Ah! Bingo.”

PJ hands Dan the box and he looks down at it. All of his previous fears dissolve into pure hope, the feeling bubbling in his chest and rising up his throat.

“I figured you’d want brown ones,” he explains. “Since you talk about my eyes so much.”

“They’re... perfect,” Dan whispers. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” PJ says, smiling. “I’ll get them for you. Happy late birthday.”

They end up spending the afternoon walking around Reading, the late August sunshine warming their backs and Dan clinging to his plastic bag like it contains the world’s greatest treasure. Though it may not be, it’s something more to him; it represents change, represents creative freedom, represents owning every aspect of who he is and who he wants to be.

They’re more than coloured contacts, so much more than that. They’re a clean slate, the first page of a new chapter in which he gets to like himself with each growing day. Gone are afternoons wallowing in teenage angst and self-loathing. With these, he gets to be something he’s not sure he’s ever experienced before – he gets to be _normal_. To him, that’s infinitely more valuable than all the treasure this world could provide.

And for once, his mum seems happy with one of his decisions. As it turns out, she loves his new eye colour just as much as he does.

 

* * *

 

Years pass. Though Dan doesn't fully realise it, the colour of his eyes begins to fade from a luminous orange into a softer, more muted pale brown.

Ever since PJ bought him his first pair of coloured contacts, Dan’s been borderline obsessed with them. Every morning, they’re the first thing he attends to; at night, he only takes them out when he can feel sleep taking over and his eyes starting to sting.

His real eye colour is still something that makes him uncomfortable. Any time he’s tried going on dates with people, he feels like he’s hiding a huge secret, like his authenticity is automatically compromised despite how relaxed he feels around the person in question. It’s the same with everyone, male or female or otherwise.

Over the years, he’s grown up a lot, too. He’s now in his final year of school before university, has a solid group of friends and his life feels like it’s going in the right direction for once. He may have plans to do a degree that he isn’t 100% okay with, and he may only have 3 friends, but it’s better than nothing. If anything, it’s miles better than what he had before.

On the first day of college, Dan and PJ had taken the newbies Phil and Chris under their wings and showed them the ropes. From there, they’d become a pretty formidable quartet, each as friendly with each other as they were as a group. There’s never been a dull moment with them.

The only one who’s slightly different from the rest is Phil. Somehow, Phil’s overtaken PJ in terms of closeness. Dan likes to blame it on PJ becoming closer to Chris, but a part of him still aches when he reminisces on afternoons spent playing Halo in his bedroom, or PJ encouraging him to film a short movie with him.

“You alright?”

Dan blinks. His head snaps up to see Phil sat in front of him, frowning. They’re sat at a table in the lunch hall, which is slowly filling up with people and noise.

“Yeah, just tired, I guess,” he mumbles in reply. “A Levels really fuck up my sleeping schedule.”

“Mine too,” Phil grins. “It’s alright, though. You’re pretty much guaranteed straight A’s anyway.”

“Alright, lads?” Chris announces, slumping into the seat beside Phil. He doesn’t bother waiting for a reply. “I, for one, am completely pissed off at Clayton. What kind of prick doesn’t even bother marking an essay before deeming it unacceptable?”

“Ignore him,” PJ says, making himself comfortable beside Dan. “Clayton, I mean. Not Chris. Chris, for once, is 100% valid.”

Chris beams.

“It’s only the second day of Upper Sixth,” Phil mentions. “Did he make you do summer work?”

“Damn right he did,” Chris replies. “Tonnes of it. And for what? A slap on the wrist, apparently.”

“I even proofread it,” PJ adds. “Can we send in a formal complaint? I need good grades for uni and frankly his teaching method is a load of shite.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Chris says, already furiously typing on his phone. “‘Dear Sir or Madam, I am writing to complain about a certain Mr Clayton, teacher of Theatre Studies. My son tells me he submitted a fantastically good–’”

“Woah woah woah,” PJ interrupts. “It wasn’t fantastically good.”

Chris gasps with such disdain that people start staring. “You said it was!”

“People lie, Chris,” Phil says flatly. Dan’s caught so off guard he chokes a little on his sandwich.

“Piss off, Lester,” Chris fires back. “And you too, Howell. I see you snickering behind your BLT.”

Dan swallows and exhales deeply, trying to calm himself down. “He has a point.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Chris declares. “Even if I don’t have your support, I can and will get Clayton fired. If you’ll excuse me, I have an army to round up.”

With an indignant air, Chris pushes his chair out, stands up and stalks off to another table. PJ sighs.

“I should probably go after him,” he says. “You know what he’s like.”

As soon as PJ’s out of earshot, Phil leans in and looks at Dan.

“Hey, are you free this weekend?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Why? What’s up?”

“I’m going to dye my hair,” Phil says, his face lighting up. “And you’re going to help me.”

Dan chuckles softly. “What colour?”

“Black. I’ve always wanted to look dark and mysterious. My mum’s finally agreed, too.”

“What was Kath thinking?” Dan muses.

“Careful,” Phil warns. “I might have to retract my invitation and give it to someone else.”

“Phil, I’m your best friend. You’re not actually going to give it to–”

“Oi, Chris!” Phil shouts across the lunch hall. Chris’s head pops up from one of the tables.

“C’mere!”

Like a puppy in a field, Chris comes bounding over, PJ hurrying behind him. The pair sit down beside each other next to Dan, eyeing Phil curiously.

“Saturday evening. My house. You in?”

“I’m not even sure what for, but no," Chris replies, his voice dripping with honeyed regret.

Dan’s head snaps around. “No?”

“The drama class is going to see Hamlet. Didn’t you know?” PJ says.

“Yeah,” Chris adds. “Why d’you think I’m working so tirelessly to get Clayton fired? Hamlet’s the final hurrah.”

“Jesus Christ,” PJ murmurs under his breath.

“Fair enough,” Phil says. “Looks like it’s just Dan and I, then.”

“Whatever you two have planned, keep it PG, yeah?” Chris mentions. “I don’t want you defiling Kath’s poor ears again. The woman’s been through enough.”

“I’m dyeing his hair,” Dan retorts. “I’d say that’s fairly child-friendly.”

“If you say so,” PJ says, fighting to keep a smile off his face. “I’ve got to run. Said I’d meet with my Geography teacher to go over my summer work.”

“I have to go too,” Chris blurts. “I... also have a meeting. With a teacher. Very official. Can’t miss it. Bye!”

In a matter of seconds, Chris has pulled PJ up by his arms and yanked him away, leaving the two of them alone again. Dan looks over at Phil, confusion etched into his features.

“Something’s up,” he notes. “For theatre kids, they’re both equally horrific at lying.”

“They are,” Phil agrees. “Can’t imagine what they’re on about.”

Dan can tell from Phil’s tone of voice that he isn’t saying everything he’s thinking. He studies his face, his borderline translucent skin, the slight curve of his nose, his prominent Cupid’s bow and his eyes that are simultaneously three colours and something shifts. It’s infinitesimal, and probably inconsequential, but it shifts nonetheless.

For the first time since they met, Dan sees Phil as not just a friend, but a possibility. Objectively, he’s attractive. They get along like a house on fire. What’s not to like? Besides, as PJ had mentioned one time and often likes to remind him, he has to forge his own path for it to mean anything. Maybe Phil is that path, that avenue as yet unexplored.

But how did PJ and Chris know to leave them alone, just as he was on the cusp of this discovery?

“Did you say anything to them?” he asks, frowning.

“No,” Phil chokes out quickly – suspiciously quickly.

Dan decides not to push it for now, but the moment doesn’t leave his mind however hard he tries.

 

* * *

 

Over the course of the next few days, Phil’s more questionable than ever. If anything, he’s suddenly very distant. Though they sit together in their shared lessons, Phil doesn’t talk to him unless prompted to do so; even then, it’s half-hearted and clipped at best. As much as he hates to admit it, Dan can feel him slipping out of his grasp, out of the cocoon of normality he’s nestled himself into.

Both Chris and PJ are equally unhelpful in their suggestions as to the cause of Phil’s sudden distantness.

“If he’s dyeing his hair black, he needs to get into that mindset, right?” Chris offers. “Y’know, like, ‘I fucking hate my family and friends and only listen to MCR and dunk my jeans in acid.’ That kind of thing.”

PJ elbows Chris in his ribs.

“Ouch! What the hell was that for? I’m only trying to help.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of it,” Dan says vacantly. “Was it something I said or did?”

“No,” PJ reassures him. “Phil’s... figuring out some stuff right now.”

“But what about Saturday?” Dan pushes. “He can’t dye his hair by himself. It’ll be a disaster.”

Chris chuckles. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Years ago, he did the same thing. Wanted to be blonde but it ended up being bright–”

“Chris,” PJ butts in. “You’ve said enough.” He turns to Dan. “Point is, Phil’s going to be fine. Give him some time and he’ll come around.”

“If you’re sure.”

“We’re sure,” Chris says, grinning. “While you’re here, fancy signing the petition to get Clayton sacked?”

Dan rolls his eyes but moves to get a pen out of his bag. “Go on, then.”

 

* * *

 

The days slowly trickle by, until Dan finds himself waking up on Saturday morning to a face full of white sunlight and a head filled with static. Groaning, he rolls over and reaches for his phone. There’s a text from Phil.

_Phil: soz i’ve been kinda m.i.a recently. is 5pm okay? your assistance with my hair transformation would be appreciated_

_Dan: no worries. 5pm’s cool. see u then :D_

Out of the 3 of his friends, Phil lives the closest to him, something Dan isn’t so grateful for later that day. The 10-minute walk is spent with his thoughts whirring around his head a mile a minute. Nothing seems real, like this whole scenario is some figment of his imagination. He’s half-convinced if he pinches himself, he’ll wake up.

Despite how hard he tries to delay his arrival, there inevitably comes the time when he’s made it to Phil’s driveway. To make matters worse, Phil’s stood at the front window. When he sees Dan arriving, he gives a tentative wave and goes to open his door.

“Hey,” he says, when Dan’s made it. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” Dan replies. A nervous kind of tension settles between them. Dan wishes he could grab it and crumble it in his hands, or throw it out of an open window, or _something_. Phil’s supposed to be his friend. Why does the air feel so charged, so infinite, right now?

Dan follows Phil upstairs to his bathroom, where everything’s been laid out in a confused kind of fashion. There’s a box of dye, some plastic utensils, a bowl and some towels scattered among other miscellaneous objects.

Phil claps his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

“Okay,” Dan says. “Have you read the instructions?”

“Eh,” comes Phil’s reply. “It can’t be that hard.”

“Sure.”

Dan starts pulling items out of the box until it’s empty and stares at what he’s working with.

“I’m guessing you mix these two together and just... put them in your hair,” he murmurs, already ripping open a packet. He pours both packets into a bowl and starts mixing them with a brush that came in the box. The resulting black mixture looks promising.

When the mixture’s ready, Dan turns around to see Phil smoothing what looks like Vaseline onto his forehead.

“To stop the dye getting onto my skin,” Phil explains. “I did my research.”

“But you couldn’t read the tiny sheet of paper that came in the box?” Dan asks, incredulous.

Phil shrugs.

“You’re unbelievable.”

With Phil’s hair smoothed back, Dan begins putting dye onto it. Despite his best efforts, he can’t help getting distracted by Phil’s near-constant stream of giggling. It’s a bright and breathy sound, one he doesn’t want to shake the memory of.

“It’s so cold,” Phil splutters. “It tickles.”

When Phil’s hair’s completely covered in dye, another silence drifts between them. Dan sits on the toilet seat and regards him with a careful gaze.

“How’ve you been?” he queries. It’s a simple enough question, but it’s open enough that Phil understands what he’s really referring to.

“Not too bad,” he replies. “I know the past couple of days have been weird. Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dan reassures him. “I was just worried, that’s all. Peej said you were... figuring out stuff.”

“Yeah...” Phil trails off. “I realised something a while ago and I’m only just coming to terms with it. It’s a bigger part of me than I thought it was.”

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Dan hurries to say. “If you’re not – not, y’know, comfortable with talking about it just yet.”

“I am,” Phil replies. “It’s better to tell all of you individually anyway. I just wanted you to know first. It kind of concerns you.”

Dan’s stomach drops. “Me? I knew I’d said something. PJ should have been honest with me. Phil, I’m sorry, I–”

“I’m bisexual, Dan.”

Dan’s mouth runs dry. Looking up, he sees Phil looking back at him with something akin to fear in his eyes. Any nervousness he had melts through him and seeps onto the floor. He doesn’t need to be nervous right now. What Phil needs is a supportive friend, someone who’s been through it all before.

When Dan had come out a couple of weeks after first meeting Phil, Phil had been nothing but lovely and understanding about the entire thing. He’d listened to his concerns, asked questions and stood up for him whenever he could. Now it’s his turn to do the same for him.

“I knew for sure a couple of months ago,” Phil continues. “But I only really acknowledged it this week. That’s why I’ve been so absent. I’m sorry. I just felt like now was the time to tell you.”

“I get it,” Dan replies, his voice softening. “I’ve been through the same thing. I know what it feels like. Is that why you wanted to come to me first?”

“That’s... part of the reason,” Phil says. “There’s something else.”

As Dan’s about to ask further, Phil’s alarm goes off.

“Shit,” he curses. “I’d better wash this off.”

Dan falters, unsure of what to say. “Right, sure, of course. Go ahead.”

When Phil begins rinsing the dye out, Dan feels a knot forming in his stomach. The clearer the water runs, the more twisted the knot becomes. It feels like a vine, stretching out through his limbs and clawing at his insides. There’s something Phil’s holding back, and the more he thinks about it, the more it ruins him.

The water’s now completely clear. Phil turns off the showerhead and flips his head back, spraying Dan with droplets. He laughs, an awkward and stilted sounding thing, and Phil laughs with him.

“I’ll go and dry my hair off. You can wait in my bedroom with me. I still, uh, need to say something.”

Dan simply nods. “Okay.”

Over the course of the next couple of minutes, Dan’s not quite sure what happens. One minute, he’s perched on the edge of Phil’s bed, his fingers digging into his jeans; the next, he’s collapsing onto the floor, his eyes suddenly in searing pain. It’s a molten, visceral, aching heat, the likes of which he’s never felt before, and in an instant Phil’s turning the hairdryer off and kneeling down beside him.

“Dan, talk to me,” Phil pleads. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“My eyes,” Dan practically sobs. “They’re burning.”

“Do you wear contacts?” Phil asks. “Sorry. Stupid question. Everyone does. You need to take them out, like, now.”

Dan isn’t consciously aware of Phil’s arms around him, helping him up. His mind is too focused on the utter agony he’s in, how it seems to be spreading from the centre of his eyes out to the edges of his sockets.

Phil guides him out of his bedroom to the bathroom. When he’s finally hunched over a sink, he brings a finger up to try to remove the first contact lens and cries out in pain. Phil’s hands are immediately at his shoulders, soothing and rubbing.

“You’ll be fine. I’ve got you. Just focus on getting them out.”

Dan listens to him and whimpers in reply. As quickly as he can, he tugs his lower eyelid down, pinches the lens and pulls it out. Phil squeezes his shoulder as he exhales heavily.

“One down, one to go,” Phil encourages him.

When Dan’s pinching the second lens and pulling it out, the pain seems to subside faster than he can blink. Frowning, he stands up straight and turns around to face Phil.

“The pain’s gone,” he says meekly.

Phil doesn’t reply instantly, instead choosing to stare at his eyes with such a smouldering intensity that Dan can’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. The air suddenly feels supercharged again, every molecule of it prickling with electricity.

“You never told me your eyes were black,” Phil finally speaks.

Dan frowns. “My eyes aren’t black.”

Turning around to face the mirror, the eyes that stare back are, in fact, very much black. They’re a deep, rich, sparkling onyx, with no distinction between his irises and pupils. Dan barely suppresses the gasp that ghosts his lips.

“They weren’t black this morning,” he adds, frowning even more deeply.

“Holy shit,” Phil breathes. “Holy fucking shit.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your eyes,” Phil says. “What colour were they this morning?”

“A brownish colour, I guess,” Dan replies. He looks at Phil’s eyes through the reflection of the mirror. His gaze travels upwards to his hair, then...

Then everything clicks into place.

“Phil, did you happen to dye your hair orange when you were 14?” he asks, his chest a frenzy of butterflies.

Phil chuckles. “I did. People called me ‘highlighter face’ after that.”

Dan whirls around and almost tackles Phil to the ground with the force of his hug. Phil hugs back just as tightly, and for a small eternity, it’s just the two of them against the world.

“It was you all along,” he whispers. “You’re my soulmate, Phil.”

“You’re my soulmate, Dan,” Phil replies.

They pull away from each other carefully, slowly. Too slowly. Dan stops at an arm’s length to see Phil looking down at his lips. He looks down at Phil’s, sees his tongue dart out to wet them, and loses any and all self-control.

The gap closes.

It’s _completely_ intentional.

Phil’s lips are warm and slightly dry. He tastes like something vaguely sweet but utterly right, and Dan’s knees all-but buckle at the sensation, at the feeling of just how effortlessly they intertwine with each other, how their bodies were moulded to be together. Moulded for this moment, more than anything he could have ever anticipated, endless and blistering.

“It’s always been you,” Phil murmurs against his lips. “From the moment we met. You made me realise who I am.”

“It’s always been you, too,” Dan replies, cradling Phil’s head against his neck. “Always has been. Always will be.”

Phil sighs, the sound blissful and contented.

“Stay the night?”

 

* * *

 

The morning Dan wakes up in Phil’s arms is the best morning of his life. It’s warm and safe and perfect, and all he wants to do is to hold onto Phil and never let go. He’s not sure he ever will.

Dan’s phone buzzes with an incoming call from Chris.

“Chris? Hi!” he greets, his voice low and husky.

“Hey Dan!” Chris replies. “I come bearing good news through all the land. They’ve decided to put in an official review for Clayton’s performance at work. He’s getting fired for sure! This is the best day of my life!”

“That’s great, Chris,” Dan says, smiling to himself. He can feel Phil stir beside him.

“I’m over the fucking moon,” Chris beams. “Anywho, where are my manners? How did things go last night? Everything okay now?”

Dan looks over at Phil’s sleepy smile and feels his heart swell.

“Everything’s just fine.”


End file.
